Friday, May 18, 2012

In the OR

In the OR this morning with a contract photographer taking photographs of a spine surgeon.

There is a patient on the table obscured by tubes and wires, and then further dehumanized by layers of ioban and blankets (so many blankets). In the end, there is no patient only a square of skin, yellowed by rubbings of iodine and surrounded by a giant blue tarp.

Doctors, nurses, anesthesiologists move in and out; every move with purpose. The odor of burning skin fills the room. The yellow skin bursts open red. I expected lots of blood, but it opens easily like cutting a steak. The suction tube moves intermittent drops of blood. Instruments are handed back and forth - shiny and silver one way, silver and spotted with blood the other way.

The conversation is casual as the doctor cuts his way to the problem. Vacations, kids and jokes. This particular surgeon is indifferent to music. Others fill the room with the blues, classical or rock music. Here, the room is filled with the hum of surgery